Tag Archives: Poetry

Hear the cries of today’s church:
“Where are the people?”
“We have a choir, we sing the hymns.”
“We have casserole suppers and Bingo.”
“We founded this church. They should come.”
“Your skirt is too short, young lady.”

Hear the whispers in the pews:
“Why is that gay flag still out in front like an ad?”
“Don’t talk to (so-and-so). You’ll get in trouble.”
“Because we’ve ALWAYS done it that way.”
“Is that a He or a She?” (muffled laughter)
“He smells bad. Is he homeless? Move over here.”
…and my personal favorite:
“Where did all these (insert minority) people come from?
We certainly didn’t invite them to worship here.”

The Greatest Generation has a problem adapting.
Yes, change is HARD. But so is sticking…
…to your ground
…to outmoded ideals
…in the mud

If you’re reading this, you are, at this moment:
on a computer
connected to the Internet
through a cable TV provider.
You may even print off copies to pass out
among “your people” in church on Sunday.

Just a reminder,
computers and printers
cable TV
and the Internet
were NOT around when “Father Knew Best,”

So are you really doing things “the way we always have?”

Or are you only comfortable updating
your acceptance and needs
when it’s conveeeeeenient?

With love from The Church Lady

Just a reminder to Christians who have forgotten we follow a man who was homeless by choice and preached unconditional love. This post may not seem loving, but I do mean it as a loving wake-up call to those who thing stale-bread-cube worship, within four walls of a church on Sundays, is the only way to follow Christ. Worship is great; I get a lot from it, but I grow weary of “cafeteria Christians.” You can’t grow a church until you expand your hearts to include everyone – and quit bitching about change.

Yep, she’s halfway to antique, she’s talented as hell, and she’s her own dog. Riley is showing her art now, working with her Salon (a group of students from her art institute), and making friends as well as network connections.

I’ll get past this. I always do. But Lex is at the family reunion, (I opted not to go), with a sick cat, a sore molar, and now with the president rattling war sabres once again (probably the only thing Congress WILL push through this year), this time no doubt to drone the crap out of Syria… well, let’s say I’ve had better days.

Thank God for a call from an old friend and for little Diva, who lays on my stomach and rubs her face against mine. Even when she’s under the weather, she’s such good company. And SHE doesn’t drop bombs, except in the litter box. Amy

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads gave us a Teddy Girls prompt last week. These girls were the Brit spin on Teddy Boys, who looked like very early pix of John Lennon: greasy, front-flopped hair; leather jackets; and jeans. In the States, we called ’em “greasers.”

Teddy Girls were the sassy ones – some probably the lesbian ones as well – and they hung on until the next style came. Too bad this “British invasion” never caught on in the States, because I quite like the look! Missed the original ‘Toads’ prompt, but that’s what dverse Open Mic Night is for. Peace and blood-red lipstick, Amy

Suffice it to say, after watching my mother die from a combination of 50 years of smoking and 40 of drinking (she was in recovery toward the end), I gave up partying. Besides, I’d much rather enjoy the occasional microbrew beer than depend on Gordon’s for a lifeline. Thanks, Mama, for showing me the better path. Peace, Amy

dverse Poetry Pub wanted us to harken back to the age of writing letters. I’ve been writing more letters lately, if only to help the struggling post office. But writing a letter to someone dear who’s dead is a challenge.

I write about Blanche, my maternal grandmother, a lot. Gone for some 50 years, I still feel her presence in my life. She had that knack of talking to people where they were, no matter what race, gender orientation… she spoke truth to power and often ending up in a cruel sanitarium for doing so. She is my HERO. God rest your soul, Blanche. Love, Amy

Thanks to Hannah at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, we learned about salt flats today. They are called “the world’s largest mirrors,” and you can read more about them, as well as see more examples of the Salt Flats, HERE. This woman, dressed up and traversing the salt flat, struck me as lonely and careworn.

The couplets came naturally, and when I read about the iambs and other rhythms at dverse poets, I realized that I had, indeed, come up with a poem that displayed the rhythm (I think) of the trochee, which is the mirror sister of the iamb. TA da TA da… anyway, I’m posting it and am very happy that I was able to fulfill a form prompt.

For The Sunday Whirl (see Wordle HERE); also in the margins at Poets United and Imaginary Garden With Real Toads. We adopted Diva this week, and she’s a vocal little old girl whose “daddy” died suddenly… she’s grieving, plus she was scared by two of the man’s daughter’s more aggressive cats. Still a bit hand shy, she will climb up on my lap (when she’s ready) and purr… sounds of the heart. Peace, Amy